Title: Road To Recovery Chapter 4: Eat Shit and Smile
Featuring: Jacob McKail
Date: 24/11/2010
Location: Lakewood, Colorado

272 Riverbank
Lakewood, Colorado
24th November 2010

It’s a goddamn suburban hell-hole! Jacob McKail decided, guiding his dog shit rental car toward the curb. He parked up and shut the engine off, warily observing his surroundings with contempt and disgust. The street was littered with houses that were as beautiful as they were massive; each guarded with a garden so perfectly kept it was difficult not to be impressed by the manufactured not so natural beauty. McKail could just pciture what the place was like in the summertime; kids littering the streets with reckless abandon, playing fetch with their dogs and fooling around in garden sprinklers to cool off when it got too hot. No doubt the smell of apple pie would be constant and unwavering and the sound of children’s laughter and joyful canine barking would be annoyingly abundant.

To some this was the makings of a dream, but to McKail it was nothing more than a terrifying nightmare. Maybe it was because the place he’d partially constructed in his mind pointed out things his troubled childhood cruelly lacked? Or maybe he’d just seen too much horror in his time to be able to accept any kind of notion of a lifestyle filled with only peace, tranquillity and perfection that? It didn’t much matter anyway. He wasn’t there to stay; he’d just come to get his girl.

Three days back, Elle had arranged to meet up with him for dinner at a steakhouse close by the motel McKail called home. She said that she wanted to rekindle the romance they’d shared a year back, before he’d drank their relationship into the gutter and ran away leaving her to pick up the pieces of her life and desperately tried to put them back together. God only knew what was going through her head in that steakhouse, but the sad truth of it was McKail didn’t have all that much time to enquire. The conversation was ended abruptly when her husband showed up to take her home. She didn’t want to go with him, he could see it in her eyes, but before McKail could violently object she’d pleaded with him to let her go. It seemed to him that this prick of a husband, whoever the hell he was, had some kind of hold over her, something to force her compliance. That just didn’t sit well with McKail one little bit and he intended to set it right.

It wasn’t all that difficult to find her. The town where he and Elle first met was a small, close-knit community; everybody knew everybody else’s business and as he quickly came to realise at the time, it was damned difficult keeping any kind of secret in that place. A couple of phone calls to some of the folk from that small town got him the address he needed well enough, though didn’t have the heart to tell them why he needed it.

McKail opened the car door and climbed out of the shabby grey Ford, reaching inside his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. He came to rest by a pine tree, lighting up a cigarette and leaning against the brittle bark, keeping a wary eye on Elle’s house across the way all the while. What next? The hell if he knew. He didn’t have any kind of plan heading into this thing. He didn’t think, he just reacted; story of his damn life.

“What the hell’re you doin’ there fella?”

McKail half glanced over his shoulder as an elderly man approached, a broom in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Just admirin’ the scenery is all,” McKail lied.

“Sure you are,” The old man replied, coming to rest just by McKail. He planted the broom on the pavement and leant against while he placed a cigarette into his mouth and absently patted his jacket and trousers in search of something. McKail guessed at a lighter and handed him his own, which the old man gratefully accepted.

“Much obliged,” the old man thanked, lighting his cigarette and promptly handing the lighter back to McKail thereafter. “Wife hates me smokin’. Gotta keep sneakin’ outta the damn house before I can get my fix. She says the damn things will kill me. Way she’s nagging, I say good. Only so much shit I can take, ya know?”

McKail cast him a sideways glance and allowed a smile.

“So, stranger,” the old man continued, “just what interest do you got with our neighbours? I know that Jenkins fella is an odd one, but his wife and kid are sweet enough.”

“Odd?” McKail asked, his interest in the old man perking up some. He obviously had information and didn’t seem all that put out by sharing it.

The old guy nodded. “Yeah. Doesn’t interact with the rest of the folk ‘round here all that much. Doesn’t much like it when his wife does either. Shame really, that girl can cook. Had me and the wife over for lunch one day while he was at work. Said she didn’t know many folk around here and wanted to make a few friends. Don’t know what the hell kinda friends we’d be, but we obliged. Free meal, ya know? Made the nicest damned burger I ever tasted. I asked her to give the recipe to the wife - a lotta damn good it’d do. Anyway, I reckon Jenkins found out about it and had some kind of problem with her interactin’ with the likes of us or somethin’. Damned girl didn’t leave the house for two damned weeks afterwards, didn’t answer the door or nothin’. Next time we saw Jenkins he gave us the dirtiest look you ever did see.”

The profile of Jenkins was beginning to take shape in his head. As soon as McKail saw him come get her in that Steakhouse a couple of days back, he figured him for some kind of grade A asshole. He could always pick a bastard out from a crowd, hell, it was why didn’t he like looking in the mirror no more.

“You reckon he ever beat her any?” McKail asked. The time for subtleties was over; he needed to decide how much of an ass whoopin’ he was going to deliver.

The old man looked down at his feet grimly and a little ashamed. “You ain’t gonna wanna hear the answer to that.”

“Oh yeah?” McKail said. “And why’s that?”

“Cuz I know who you are, boy,” he answered. “I seen yer wrasslin’ on TV a couple of times. I gotta admit, I’m kinda worried what you’re gonna do.”

McKail nodded. “Yeah. You oughta be.”

***

Lebanon Rehabilitation Facility,
The Bronx, New York
3rd July 2010

McKail squinted as the daylight hit his eyes for the first time in what they’d told him was a week, but what felt to him like a decade. Emerging from the pitch black room, he felt the warmth of the facility’s central heating system soothingly caress his skin; such an understated luxury that was cruelly deprived of him during his stay in solitary confinement. Already uncomfortable, nights were made a whole hell of a lot worse; felt more like torture than punishment. Although in this place McKail found it difficult to distinguish between the two.

Still shivering, he revelled in the disgusted expressions that wore heavy on the guard’s faces. He was pretty fucking ripe; the stench emitting from him could strip paint at ten paces and it was already making some of the guard’s eyes water. Serves you right, you bastards! He silently cursed, being led directly towards the shower room across the hall. The guards threw a towel and a fresh pair of overhauls at him, all making damn sure to keep something of a distance for all the good it did them.

He slipped into shower room in a hurry, peeling off his dirtied overhauls in the blink of an eye and rushed towards the promise of hot water and soap like Speedy Gonzalez chasing a sure thing. He turned the faucet of the nearest shower with reckless abandon and allowed the reassuring warm water trickle all over him.

“Jesus Christ, I needed that...” He muttered to himself, feeling the filth entrenched deep within his skin unearth under the irresistible barrage of soap and hot water.

He was enjoying himself there for a time too, until he made the mistake of looking down at the pale, disturbingly skeletal frame that he was shocked to discover now made up his body. Hurling his guts up and then spending a week eating nothing but the rotten, maggot�"riddled food that solitary confinement allowed had transformed from a reasonably fit man to a train wreck he barely recognised.

“I gotta tell ya, boy,” the familiar and unwelcome voice of Buzz barked, “you look like shit. Smell like it too.”

McKail eyed the Facility Administrator’s heavily bandaged nose and struggled to restrain himself from laughing right in prick’s face. It was damn well worth it, he decided. A pissed off expression spread across Buzz’s face in an instant, which only made McKail’s smile widen.

“I can see a week in solitary ain’t humbled you any,” he continued as calmly as McKail had ever seen him. If he was getting to Buzz, it wasn’t showing all that much. “You know, I can arrange for you to spend another week in solitary, if you’re still feelin’ all rowdy.” Buzz’s face grew grim and angry. “Or I can just bust send your ass packin’ to regular jail. See how you’re grinnin’ then.”

McKail tried not to show the prick that his words were getting to him, but he’d never been all that good at playing his emotional cards to close to his chest. This time, it was Buzz who was grinning.

“But lucky for you, I just don’t operate like that,” Buzz continued. “You’re stuck here with me till you’re damn well rehabilitated and not a moment before. Only question is, you want do it the easy way or the hard way?” Buzz flexed his shark-like grin wider. “An’ I couldn’t give two tugs of a dead dog’s dick which, because I’m gonna enjoy myself either way.”

McKail turned away and closed his eyes. The weight of the decision he’d already made rested heavily upon his shoulders, but he didn’t regret it for one damn minute. “I ain’t never gonna be your bitch.”

With that Buzz only chuckled as if this was nothing more than a game that hadn’t been won yet. “Sometimes you just gotta eat shit and smile, McKail. Sooner you realise that, the better it’ll be for all of us.”

***

272 Riverbank
Lakewood, Colorado
24th November 2010

“So what’s yer stake in all this, boy?” The old man questioned, in between cigarette related coughs and wheezes. “You the kid’s daddy or somethin’?”

Elle has a son called Mikey. Elle wouldn’t talk much about the father of the boy, but McKail was under the impression he no longer walked amongst the living. He got on well enough with Mikey whilst he was living with Elle a while back; the kid love professional wrestling and in Mikey’s eyes McKail was something of a hero. He felt nothing but shame over leaving him and his mother in the lurch like he did. He’d been regret it ever since and he had intention of letting it happen again.

McKail shook his head. “No. Good kid though.”

The old man nodded. “Yeah, reminds me of my grandkids, I�"“

The old man carried on yapping, but McKail had stopped listening. Across the way, a dark blue Chevrolet crept into his eye line as the car pulled into Jenkins’ driveway and came to a smooth halt. McKail watched on as the familiar slender figure of Elle emerged from the car. She made her way to the rear of the Chevrolet and opened the trunk, scooping up a large brown paper bag full of groceries and slamming it shut when she was done.

McKail didn’t waste any time. He threw his half-finished cigarette butt on the floor and made his way over the road.

“Aw shit,” the old man cursed after him. “Don’t you go doin’ anythin’ stupid, boy! You hear me?”

Elle’s hears picked up at the sound of old man’s voice across the way and turned to see for herself just what in the hell was going on. When she did, her face filled with a grim fear and she froze on the spot. It wasn’t the reaction McKail was hoping for, but as he drew closer it became much less of a concern. The purple-yellow bruise surrounding her left eye was a much higher priority.

“Jake!” She exclaimed. “What the hell’re you doing here?” She shook her head and cursed under her breath in annoyance. “Okay, stupid question. After what happened in New York, how could you not come?” McKail reached out and soft placed a comforting hand upon her cheek, his eyes studying her bruise intently and anger congealing deep inside. “It’s nothing, okay? I slipped in the shower the other day, that’s all.” His eyes left the bruise and locked onto Elle’s. He gave her the kind of glare that looked deep into her soul, the kind of glare that told her that he knew the truth. Her eyes welled up with tears. “Okay, okay, maybe I didn’t but honestly, Jake, you can’t be here when he gets back, you can’t!”

McKail remained calmed and took a step forward to embrace her. She buried her face into his shoulder and gently sobbed, her shoulders heaving in sync with every whimper.

“The hell I can’t,” he told her. “You ain’t livin’ like this an’ neither’s Mikey.”

The sound of a size car engine drew nearer and Elle was quick to struggle free from the embrace. “This is Mark now. He was following me back from the grocery store,” she whispered. “Please don’t do anything stupid, you’re only going to make things worse!”

McKail shook his head. “How the hell can I make things worse?”

“Jake!” Mikey’s voice called, he emerged from the back of Jenkins car. The boy’s eyes lit up and he started off in McKail’s direction, before being hauled back by a forceful gloved hand.
“Just hold on a minute there, pal,” Elle’s husband barked, holding the boy in place. Mark Jenkins emerged from the driver’s seat of the car, his grip firm and his intentions dangerously unknown.

“Why?” Mikey innocently questioned. “I wanna to go see Jake!”

“Not just yet, buddy,” Jenkins told him. “Us grown up’s need to have a little talk first.”

“Come on, Mark,” Elle began, “just let Mikey go play inside. He doesn’t need to be a part of this.”

Jenkins ignored her. “Jacob McKail, right? Elle’s told me so much about you and little Mikey here says you’re his favourite wrestler ever. I’m more of a Lindsay Troy fan myself, but that’s just me.” Jenkins produced a smarmy grin, looked down at the boy and then back at McKail as if daring him to try something in front of Mikey. “What do we owe the pleasure of your little visit?”

McKail gestured towards he sizeable bruise clinging to the underside of Elle’s eye. “The hell do you think I’m here for?”

“Don’t Jake,” Elle whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “Please don’t make this harder.”

“You owe the kid more than this,” McKail told her. “You owe yourself more than this.”

“But...I can’t,” she spluttered, struggling to hold back the tears. “You don’t know him! What if he tries to hurt us, what if he�"“

“The hell’s he gonna do?” McKail asked. “Get your stuff an’ come with me.”

Mikey’s face lit up. “We gonna stay at Uncle Jake’s house, mommy?”

“No, Mikey,” Jenkins answered him, that same smug smile carved into his face. His grip tightened around the boy’s shoulder, causing Mikey to wince in pain. “You’re�"”


Elle’s eyes widened with anger at the sight of her little boy in pain. “Yes, we are,” she confirmed, her fiery gaze burning a hole in Jenkins. “Go pack your things.”

Jenkins grit his teeth in anger as Mikey managed to struggle free of his weakened grip and rushed inside the house, most likely to gather his favourite toys and not much else.

“You can’t do this,” Jenkins warned. “You’re my wife! You’re mine! I own you!”

“The hell you do!” Elle replied. “You waived any right you had over me when you started hittin’ on me!”

“Well, you shoulda learnt to get off my damn case!”

“It’s over, Mark,” she told him, folding her arms in defiance and desperately trying to hold back the waterworks. The last thing she wanted right about now was to let the bastard see her all upset. “It has been for a while.”

Jenkins lurched forward, his eyes wild and grabbed her forearm. McKail decided against interfering. This was a battle Elle had to fight for herself or none of this would be worth a damn.

“It ain’t over and it won’t be until I say so,” Jenkins declared. His eyes wild, his voice laced with fury and his body language screaming restrained violence. “Didn’t you realise this was what you signed up for when you get married? For better or worse, those are the exact damned words. Meaning sometimes you gotta just eat shit and smile for the good of the marriage.” He paused to allow his warped viewpoint to sink in some. “This is one of those fucking times! And what’re you gonna do? Just run away from it? Does this marriage not mean anything to you?”

Elle wrenched her arm out of his grasp and slapped him so hard it damn near knocked him over. Jenkins could only blink in shock. “How dare you ask me that! You’re the one who put this marriage in jeopardy when you decided you could hit me six months back. This marriage has been over since then, I’ve just hadn’t found a way out yet.”

“This is all about him isn’t it?” Jenkins asked, his eyes darting towards McKail. “You’re leaving me for him, aren’t you? How could you? He broke your heart once you told me so yourself. He just ran out and left you.”

“She’s a lousy judge of character is why,” McKail told him, sick of hearing his whining. Elle chuckled and affectionately rubbed his shoulder. “Go inside and pack your things,” he told her. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t interfere.”

“No you won’t, fucker!” Jenkins screamed, rushing angrily forward.

“The hell you doin’?” McKail questioned, taking a side step and allowing Jenkins to smash face-first in to the wall. He shook his head as the pathetic excuse for a man fell to the floor in a heap.

“You’re pathetic, Mark,” Elle told him, making her way inside. “Don’t hurt him, Jake. He ain’t nearly close to bein’ worth it.”

She disappeared into the house as Jenkins lay propped up against the wall crying. McKail shook his head and lit himself a cigarette. “Man the fuck up, woman,” he told the destroyed man, blowing cigarette smoke into the mild afternoon breeze.

“Fuck you, man!” Jenkins blubbered. “This isn’t fair. It can’t be happening...can’t be.”

McKail took a step closer, making sure to tread heavily upon Jenkins’ testicles in the process. His face arched with agony as McKail crouched down a little. “Like you said, sometimes you gotta eat shit an’ smile.” He grinned. “Looks like it’s your turn, fucko.”

If Jenkins saw the irony in his words, he didn’t show it. He was too busy clutching his ball painful and crying.
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